


It's Not Soylent Green (But It May As Well Have Been)

by donutsandcoffee



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M, gavin is an awful cook, michael tells the whitest of lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsandcoffee/pseuds/donutsandcoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a lesser known fact that Gavin Free is capable of murder.</p><p>Not intentionally, of course. Gavin may have become famous on the internet as a total prankster, but even Gavin draws the line at certain jokes, and Michael knows that that line is certainly far, far away from first degree murder.</p><p>Definitely not intentional.</p><p>Michael looks down at his plate of food, two lumps of meat covered in unidentified, shit-brown-colored sauce and a bunch of nearly black sticks that are more soot than fries.</p><p><i>Not intentional</i>, Michael thinks gravely to himself,<i> but definitely murder.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Soylent Green (But It May As Well Have Been)

**Author's Note:**

> for [30-day otp challenge](http://roosterstiel.tumblr.com/tagged/30day), day 21: cooking. title is of course a reference of the movie [soylent green](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0070723/)
> 
> original version was [posted on tumblr](http://roosterstiel.tumblr.com/post/53063451278/21). there are some differences, but the two are essentially the same story

It is a lesser known fact that Gavin Free is capable of murder.

Not intentionally, of course. Gavin may have become famous on the internet as a total prankster, but even Gavin draws the line at certain jokes, and Michael knows that that line is certainly far,  _far_  away from first degree murder.

Definitely not intentional.

Michael looks down at his plate of food, two lumps of meat covered in unidentified, shit-brown-colored sauce and a bunch of nearly black sticks that are more soot than fries.

 _Not intentional_ , Michael thinks gravely to himself,  _but definitely murder._

 

-

> “So… apparently, I just found out, Gavin can’t cook.”
> 
> “You just found out? Really?"
> 
> "I do most of the cooking, and you didn't exactly leave me a goddamn _memo_ , Geoff."
> 
> "Well I mean, why else do you think Griffon and I never allowed that kid to cook last time? He thinks we’re just being a good host. We know that's bullshit. I'm fucking heartless, and it’s actually just survival instincts.”

-

They’ve been dating for a long time.

That isn’t exactly true. They have just officially dated for a couple of months— _five months and three days_ ,  _not_  that Michael is keeping count or anything, that’s just fucking sappy—but their relationship has always been so natural it feels like it has always been like this forever.

So when Michael wakes up on a Sunday morning to Gavin’s voice calling him for homemade breakfast, it already feels like it is part of his habit. Of _their_ habit. It’s the first time this happens, but Michael can totally get used to this, the way Gavin looks in Michael’s too-big t-shirts and an apron, sliding towards him a place of delicious foo—

He may have spoken too soon.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asks him, his eyes widened like those of a kicked puppy begging for approval from his master. Holy shit,  _how_  can anyone expect Michael to say no to those eyes?

“Nothing,” he manages a grin, and looks back at his… spaghetti meatball. Well, at least that’s what Gavin called it. To be fair, it  _does_  resemble spaghetti meatballs.

A little bit.

From a certain angle.

If spaghetti meatballs get eaten by a cow and vomited out again before getting trampelled by at least five different pigs.

But hey, there’s the whole  _don’t judge a book by its cover_  saying for a reason, right?

Michael grabs his fork, pokes at one of the meatballs and takes a tentative bite.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Whoever came up with that fucking saying can  _go suck a dick._

The meatball, for some reason,  _crumbles_  inside his mouth, a salty-and-spicy flavor instantly spreading across his tongue; Michael distantly thinks this probably what Godzilla feels when it eats a burning building. The sauce, in contrast, is so thick it’s more like a crushed pudding, and it’s so honey-sweet it’s  _nauseating_.

Michael is ready to stand up and run to the bathroom when his eyes meet Gavin’s.

“How’s it?” Gavin asks, and the hopeful-puppy look is back.

Fuck.

He swallows (can he get a fucking award for that?) and puts up his most convincing grin.

A smile spreads on Gavin’s face, and if that smile was a painting, it would be a picture of ten thousand ponies running around a field of flowers.

“Awesome,” he croaks out.

-

> "Ray."
> 
> "No."
> 
> “Ray, _Ray_ —save me. Please.”
> 
> “Dude, I’ve told you a billion times: just suck it up and tell him about it.”
> 
> “You should’ve just told me to run over a dozen puppies with a bulldozer because what you’re asking me to do is basically the same fucking thing.”

-

“Michael! Michael! Look what I’ve got!” Gavin says excitedly as he takes out a box filled cookies.

Michael immediately takes one out of reflex, and the cookie is already halfway into his mouth when Gavin says, “I made these myself.”

It’s too late. Oh,  _fuck_ , it’s too late. If he’d known better he could’ve faked an allergy or something, but the cookie is practically in his mouth already and Gavin is looking at him expectantly and—

The cookie tastes like everything _except_ cookies. It’s sour, with a hint of spicy and bitter, and there are absolutely no analogies that can accurately describe how awful it is. This is what it feels like to taste the world’s most hated food. This is what it feels like to eat the ten worst jellybean flavors, all at once.

He swallows the thing, though. He always does. And then he smiles.

“Top,” he tells Gavin.

Ray and Geoff are looking at him from their desk, and he sees a certain kind of respect in their eyes that wasn’t there before. That, and pity. A whole lot of pity that doesn’t involve them actually helping him getting out of this situation.

Something needs to be done.

-

> “Look, I have an idea.”
> 
> “I’m listening.”
> 
> “This number here? This is the number of a contractor I know.”
> 
> “Okay.”
> 
> “And here’s what you can do. You call this number, tell them that you’re Ryan’s friend…”
> 
> “And? And?”
> 
> “And you ask them to install every inch of your house with a secret trap door where you can throw away all your food! These people make trap doors with  _stainless steel,_  first in the business.”
> 
> “…fuck you, Ryan.”
> 
> “Five percent discount!”

-

Michael decides this is the day he’s telling Gavin.

It’s the anniversary of their relationship (has it only been  _that_ long? It feels like a  _lifetime_ ) and Michael has survived numerous hardships, his mind thinking less of serious couple fights and more of atrocious-looking and vomit-inducing food.

And _how._  Whenever he thinks his taste buds have finally accustomed themselves to Gavin’s disastrous cooking, Gavin would prove him wrong. Michael still hasn’t recovered from the trauma that is Gavin’s macaroni and cheese that looked like a cluster of ant’s eggs covered in spider’s web.

So their anniversary comes around and what better time to tell Gavin? Relationship is supposed to be built on  _trust_  and  _honesty_  and things like that, right?

Gavin is going back to Michael’s place earlier today to prepare for their anniversary dinner, and on his way home Michael gives himself a couple of pep talks, muttering,  _you can do this, Michael, it’s for the best and you know it_  under his breath.

By the time he reaches his doorstep the words are on the tip of his tongue, waiting to tumble out of his mouth like domino blocks.

He opens the door and the words just  _disappear._

Gavin’s hair is messy and he looks  _exhausted_ , and Michael’s brain helpfully registers that it’s a Friday—Minecraft Let’s Play upload day—and Gavin almost didn’t sleep last night to edit the video.

But despite the clear exhaustion Gavin looks  _happy_ , because Geoff wasn’t kidding when he said Gavin loved cooking, and it’s obvious he’s trying his best because he’s cooking for  _him_  and Michael suddenly feels like his heart is being squeezed.

“Michael!” Gavin says, gesturing to the plates of cooking on the table excitedly, “I just made this special dish for our special date.”

Michael looks down and sees… something,  _food_ , definitely food, and he thinks it should really concern him that he doesn’t even  _care_  what it is that he puts inside his mouth anymore.

The thing is fucking  _spicy_. Like, there’s-a-fucking-forest-fire-inside-your-mouth spicy. He feels his mouth is burning and for a second he is reminded of his plan to just tell Gavin everything because his mouth is  _on fucking fire,_ and—

He looks up from his plate, and catches Gavin looking at him. There’s a small, uncharacteristically quiet smile on his face.

Michael feels a different kind of burning sensation. This time it’s from his chest, and it slowly spreads across his body, sending tingling sensations to his extremities, overwhelming him with  _warmth_.

“Nice,” he finds himself telling Gavin, and Gavin face  _lights up_  brighter than the fucking sun, and  _fuck_ , his digestive system is a good enough sacrifice for this  _thing_  that he has with Gavin.

Whoever says relationship must be built on complete total honesty can also suck a dick.

-

> “You’re so  _whipped_ , you know that?”
> 
> “Yeah, I know, Jack. Believe me, I _know_.”
> 
>  


End file.
